


Emergency Contact

by p_totel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Manipulation, Past Relationship(s), Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, also his brothers suck, ramsay just spins theon however he wants, theon burnt all the bridges he has, theon is an idiot who cant even microwave a hot dog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23559541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_totel/pseuds/p_totel
Summary: Ramsay picks up Theon at the bar, drunk as hell and ready to pass out.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Thramsay
Comments: 19
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Will probably have 2-3 chapters! This one is from Ramsay's POV, next will be Theon's recapitulation of events.

"Thank you for picking him up."  
"Yeah, of course. Thanks for calling."  
"You seem pretty experienced... I mean, uh, does this usually happen?"  
  
Ramsay grinned to the worried lady asking him the question as he struggled to keep Theon on his feet. Greyjoy slobbered all over his jacket, his eyelids at half mast and drool pouring out the corner of his mouth. Smell of beer, vodka and cigarette smoke oozed from the "proud" Ironborn as he leaned on Ramsay with all his weight, hanging on his shoulders so he doesn't drop on the floor. He was like a rag doll in Ramsay's arms.  
  
"You'd be surprised. I guess that's why he has me as his emergency contact and not his dad, right? Otherwise he'd have to be the one picking up his alcoholic boy every Friday. Wouldn't that be sad?" Ramsay responded to the question, shoving Theon in the front seat of the car. He tied the belt around him - partially for road security and partially to keep Theon from falling down and hitting his head against the thick plastic of the hub. He doubted the drunk Kraken would even notice.  
  
"It's Thursday." The lady replied, a bit confused.  
  
"Yeah, well. He can go for quite a while." Ramsay slammed the door and walked over, to the driver's door and yanked them open with one smooth click. "Thanks for calling. Better me than the hospital, right?" He smiled, his best concerned-boyfriend act on and sled in the seat.  
The shiny black surface of his Mercedes reflected lights of a nightclub where he picked up the Greyjoy idiot. The wheels gave a roar, showcasing how expensive the machine was (luxury Ramsay wore like second skin despite the dirt he would get on his hands) and then, with a loud sound that screamed „money“ drove off.  
  
"Well, well, well. Isn't this a nice reunion?" Ramsay grinned, shifting the gear handle with his right hand as the left one steered the wheel. Fuck automatics. He liked to have control, and automatics were only for dumb fucks who couldn't multitask two simplest things ever. If you didn't have your grip on things, things could easily get messed up – as he was able to see from the slumped state of his – „ex“ boyfriend.

The car hummed, the heating system gently vibrating under the sound of some stupid rock song from who-cares radio station. The entire car interior looked like it was from a commercial or ripped out straight some car magazine.  
  
"Wh-." Greyjoy slobbered, his eyes a blink from shutting down for good. "Mh...Rm...Ram? Whe-." He slurred, trying so hard to put together a sentence. But alcohol made his tongue thick and impossible to move in his mouth, making him trip on it like one would on shoelaces. His entire body felt heavy, including the spot between his eyes, just above his nose where pressure built up when he tried to put together a thought in states like this.  
  
"Aren't you a well-spoken boy. How the fuck did you ever finish highschool? What, did you just fuck your way through the teachers? That's apparently the only thing your stupid tongue is good for." Ramsay grinned, his voice dripping with smug bitterness. Oh, how he loved to insult the dumb fuck slouched in the seat next to him. It felt like kicking him down while on the floor, and while Ramsay loved to hit him in the ribs from time to time with his leather boots, this brought him similiar joy.  
His poor pet was always so stupid.  
  
"Mno... Mm. Ramsay?" Theon managed to somehow let out a more or less comprehendable sound. It was clear he had something else to add onto it; or well, to try to, but his brain felt like a turtle trying to pull through mud. "Ram...wh...you. Where-. no-. Why are you...my emer...mer...g...emer...c..."  
  
"Yeah, sweetheart. Your 'emergency contact', right here to pick his lovely boyfriend up from a strip club. I guess your old friend Robb would, but he blocked your sorry ass when you called him for 35th time before I came along to save you from the hell that is 'Theon Greyjoy'.“ Ramsay snorted, enjoying the sharp and sad truth. Well, in reality it was Ramsay who once casually picked up Theon's phone after Robb kept calling him non-stop and blocked the nosy fucker. Of course Theon thought it was Robb who blocked _him._ Which he found out when he tried to call him back once, and Ramsay wasn't too happy about it.

„That place is such a shithole, you know that?" Ramsay said, one hand on the wheel, another on the shifting handle. "But I guess you fit in. I see you've been living your best life since the breakup."  
Theon didn't reply. Whether he was unable to or just had nothing to say in his defense remained unclear, but Ramsay assumed it was both.

„How long did you last, sweetie? Two weeks? Two weeks living on your own? Without mommy or daddy to wash your laundry? Also hey!“ Ramsay snapped his fingers when Theon leaned over, his cheeks swelling. „If you throw up _over my car_ , you will be paying for cleaning.“

Greyjoy just swallowed, barely, if you could call that a swallow. His mouth was dehydrated, his throat dry, and bile was building up in the back of it; but he managed to stop himself.

„You will probably have to pay anyway because of the smell you've left all over it since you _reek_. Maybe that's what I should call you? Smelly, stinky Reek. Because that's what you are right now. When did you last take a shower?“

Theon's eyes dropped as his swollen face tensed in an attempt to speak.

„Thr...th...ree. Ago. At... the gym. I don't....d...ha...“

„You shower at the _gym?_ Oh my God, where have you been living, a cardboard box next to dumpster?“ Ramsay laughed, menance dripping from his snickers. He genuinely found it hilarious - the mess in the seat next to him couldn't even afford a place with a _shower_. „That's the most hobo thing I've ever heard, Theon.“

Theon didn't move, but he seemed to shrink in his size from embarrassment.

„And how have I been? Thanks for asking, love, I've actually been doing pretty great. You know, you are a trouble to take care of. Like a difficult child. Even my girls are smarter than you.“ Ramsay kept talking with a jolly note in his voice. It was a pretty much one-sided converstation, but who cared. He knew Theon could still hear him; more or less.

It was a lie. He wasn't doing pretty great. Or well, truth to be told – _Ramsay_ was doing fantastic; but everyone around him wasn't.

If Ramsay was cruel before, his unorthodoxal methods of running the business just got tenfold worse since then. This was the first time Roose actually realized how important having a pet was to his son, since Theon kept him more or less at bay, giving him an outlet to... express his creativity. To play his games. Roose's comments switched from „ _Get rid of him, son_.“ To „ _Right. So, when are you getting him back_?“

„Maybe I should just dump you back where I found you. You are kind of a dead weight to pull around.“

„ _Whenever he wants._ “ Ramsay would grin in respond to his father's sarcastic question, putting in whatever ounce of self-control he had left not to pick up his knife, chains, and go get his plaything back. No. Usually, he would – nothing really stopped him from grabbing Theon's hair and smashing his head into concrete until he beat out any thoughts of him even daring to think about leaving; but this time it was a different game. A patient game. A game when a helpless little rabbit would come home, crying to be protected because he is so scared of living on his own. _Lassie's coming home, bitches._

Greyjoy's face twisted in an ugly grimace, his eyes shutting thight and brows furrowing down. A pathetic whimper escaped his throat.

_A patient game indeed._

„What was that?“ Ramsay pulled over. They were already on the quiet road running through the woods to Ramsay's fancy house, just below Dreadfort. Sure, of course he had apartment in the middle of the city and a few storages around the town where he did his work, but living a bit above, a bit outside suited him well. It brought a nice change of pace and his girls were able to run around freely when they weren't hunting down the bitches that owed him money and jumping over the wired fences in small alleys.

Besides; it usually kept Theon in his place. Nobody could hear him scream there or call the police for 'domestic abuse' or whatever bullshit crime they would glue onto Ramsay's criminal record. Which _already_ didn't look the best it could, no matter how much polishing Roose had done to keep his bastard out of prison.

Theon's whimpers gradually evolved into actual sobbing, his nose sniffling; his chest shaking and rising with each hiccup that mixed with ugly sobs. _Gods, he is pathetic_ , Ramsay thought as he watched his ex break down. He couldn't surpress the grin that started making its way onto his lips, the corners of his mouth showing his sharp canines more suited for an animal than a human. Which was exactly what he was right now. A hunting dog smelling the fear of a caught rabbit, cornered against a tree. Or a squid, whatever.

„No? You don't want me to dump you back in the dumpster where you live?“

It took all Theon's strength through tears and his eyes squeezed shut to shake his head. His chin was deformed in an ugly manner; that dumpy chin people get when crying and not even attempting to stop.

„Right. Of course sweetheart.“ Ramsay reached over to pet Theon's matted locks. He was pretty sure more than three days had passed since his shower, but he didn't care. Ramsay liked dirt and mess.

There was something unusually arousing about seeing the, such proud Kraken, ruined in front of him, ready to be taken. How could he resist? He wanted to sink his teeth in his neck and bite, and bite, until he ate him; made a bloody mess of his skin and left him covered in even more grime than before.

„You tried to live on your own. You don't seem to have particularly liked it. But that's alright. Theon? Theon, stop crying.“ He gently grabbed his boyfriend (ex didn't really suit the situation well – of course he knew even before Theon would be back with his tail tucked between his legs, begging to be taken back, so Ramsay never considered that joke of a breakup official) and pulled it to face him. Theon barely opened his eyes, red from alcohol, smoke and tears that stained his cheeks.

„It's alright. I forgive you.“ Ramsay said, his expression soft, his voice reassuring. He delighted in seeing the „Ironborn's“; _quote marks very needed_ ; face slowly change.

Ugly wrinkles were replaced by a shocked expression – his mouth slightly agap, eyes lighting with hope. The glimpse of clarity lasted for two seconds straight as alcohol once again took over and Theon's eyelids dropped down and his sea-green irises went glassy. It was like all tension had left his body. He leaned into Ramsay's hand, still placed on his cheek, relaxing in the comfortable touch.

Bolton's chest swelled. His pet was so stupid. So easy to please and manipulate. Really, he was even simpler than his dogs – all he needed was a stern hand and an occassional pat on his head to listen. He knew all about his daddy issues; Theon told him pretty much the first time they had met – _seriously, is he stupid or what? Who just tells strangers things like that after the first drink the buy them? ­­_ \- and Ramsay made a good note of it. His puppy was so easy to read. Like a book.

It was obvious, that for two weeks he was away, nobody even told him „have a nice day“ or anything like that, let alone told him „you're doing a good job“ or anything similiar Theon thirsted for. At least, judging from the way he acceptingly welcomed Ramsay's warm hand.

Theon barely managed to lift his head and tried to lean over to Ramsay. Endearing, really. The belt stopped him from falling down as his body followed the suit. He tilted his head a bit, puckering up his lips for a kiss.

Ramsay nearly laughed at such sad attempt of affection.

„Yeah? What do you want?“ he braced himself and asked. He didn't want to let Theon get away so _easily_. Despite the tears he still wasn't happy; he knew Theon just wanted Ramsay to take him back in without asking because asking was even more embarrassing than crying.

„Want...to...“ slurred words poured out of his mouth as he still attempted to get closer to the hunting dog in form of a man. „I...kiss you.“

It was obvious he was drunk enough to pass out within moments from now.

„I could...“ he moved his hand clumsily, reaching for Ramsay's thigh. And then slowly, insecurely making its way towards his crotch. „To...a. Ap. Apolo-.“ He stopped, frowning as he struggled to pronounce the word. „Apo-. I could- I suck good. Ramsay-.“ He tried to lean over once again, belt thankfully stopping him.

„Yeah? I know you do.“ Ramsay grinned. Theon looked like an absolute mess; and he knew there was a pretty good danger of having his gag reflex spill the insides of his stomach all over the seat. „I'll let you do that once we are home, okay?“

Theon nodded like a sad puppy. „Home. Yeah.“

And then he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon would like to be loved and accepted by his brothers. Unfortunately, that doesn't mix well with Ramsay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out to be much longer than I envisioned, omg. Next chapter will probably be Ramsay's POV again. Hopefully something nasty happens 👀

Theon woke up in a soft, silky bed, his body feeling like a stone pressed against the mattress. Sunk. Unmovable. He never wanted to get up. He felt like he had slept for three years – which wasn't even that far from truth, except it was twelve and half hours, give or take.

The comfortable heaviness lasted for three more minues, his eyes nearly doozing off back to sleep, when he jolted up.

This was not his bed.

Theon didn't have a bed.

Theon had a couch (and 'had' wasn't true, actually). It was a dirty couch he crashed on in Rodrik's old... he would say apartment but it was really a basement with a sink and a shitty TV from like 90es or something. And a fridge. There was, of course, no kitchen so the fridge was ever used only for beer. And it stank of it, that was for sure.

Actually the whole hole that tried to pass off as a 'space constructed for human residence' smelt like an illegal speakeasie covered in vomit of homeless alcoholics. Bottles of vodka were still on the floor when Theon unlocked the door, despite Rodrik not having lived there for at least two years now. He assumed he came here to party from time to time or smoke some weed. Theon hopelessly flipped the flat upside down to try and find some remains of it but he had to please himself with a packet of cigarettes and some bitter vodka that stung like hell. He didn't want to know for how long that shit had laid around.

The apartment was the only place where he could crash now. There was no doubt that Bolton's men were around, probably waiting for him in the nearest port or something. In those two weeks, Ramsay didn't call or text or anything. Theon had no idea if it meant he took it well or if it was the calm before storm.

His brother's words rang in his ears.

 _You are a Bolton's little bitch which he kisses in public; on his forehead, like a good little girlfriend._ Theon wanted to cry at the memories.

„ _I'll come back as a made man“,_ he thought, angry tears forming in his eyes, „ _with a job, with gold around my neck which I took by right, and then they will see. They will all see.“_

He was a Greyjoy. He wasn't supposed to shiver at a glance of those icy eyes or apologize. He should've never accepted to stay at His place; it was stupid. But he had nowhere to go.

He and Robb had cut it about two years ago when Theon decided his place was with his family, not Starks.

The police chief, Ned Stark, took him in when he was still young. It was an attempt to play at at least one ounce of Balon's consciousness and care for his lineage. They made a treaty – Theon would be with Starks and Balon would keep his dirty business out of North. Whatever, they just moved the business to south.

_„They are criminals, Theon!“ Robb argued, his voice filled with frustration._

_„Oh wow, thanks Robb! Nice way to speak of my family, fuck you!“_

_„We are your family!“_

_Theon shot him a glare that spoke more than thousands of words. He had no idea if Robb was ignorant or purposefully a stuck up asshole who simply decided to ignore Theon's feelings. Both of them were very well aware of the atmosphere in the household and how it differed. Theon lived there for years and everyone knew he „wasn't one of them“. Unlike Robb who felt pretty great because he was the oldest child and his parents adored him. And his sisters adored him. And Sansa just shot disgusted glances at Theon and rolled her eyes whenever he spoke. So yeah, no, Robb, fuck you, you are not my family, he thought._

His brothers weren't all that impressed when Theon proclaimed that hey, the Lost Son is coming home. Well, it was expected to be so. He actually never loved them and they didn't love him much either, in fact, it never seemed like anybody fucking loved anyone in the Iron Islands. Actually, 90% of Theon's family hated each other and just waited for the other bastards to show up so they could gut them like fish.

In any case he couldn't expect them to just take him back, but what was done was done and he had to do _something._

They considered him _soft_. Well, they always have. Theon was „mamma's boy“. Alannys always liked him the best and she didn't restrain herself from ruffling his hair even when, yeah, his older brothers were there. She couldn't help it. It was her youngest son. Her beautiful baby with locks and charming face, while both Rodrik and Maron took much more after their father. They were probably jelaous, Theon thought with spite.

_„Aren't you pretty faced, baby brother?“ Maron grinned, cruelly mocking him. „Like a little girl.“_

_„What, jelaous that women actually want to sleep with me and I don't need to have three rape assaults in my criminal record?“ Theon responded coldly and earned a fist to his face._

Right. He chose his brothers over Starks. He wanted to become like them, ruthless, brave, feared. Starks were admired – appreciated, loved – not covered before like Ironborn were. _Yeah, weak bitches, Theon thought._

_Weak bitches, like all Northmen._

His opinion turned around so quickly when he met Ramsay Bolton.

It was the third night since he told „good riddance“ to Starks, picked up his bag and showed a middle finger to Robb and jumped on a shitty scooter he bought second-hand from some Frey smuggler on the car deponium. The entire Stark family judged him silently for it ( _except for Robb who judged him openly and except for Arya who thought it's the coolest shit ever and wanted a ride. Catelyn moved her away from it and said that garbage can is one ride from falling apart and that Theon can go kill himself if he really wants to, to which Theon replied: I will, thanks_ ).

He had enough money in his pocket for like, a vodka. Theon wanted to slap himself for being stupid and not having saved more, but whatever. It would have to do for a couple days. He didn't have enough money for an apartment or even a boat ticket to Pyke.

The way he left the Stark home was loud and impulsive above all, it happened in passionate rage and then he was left on the street. He actually left out of principle and not some justified adoration for his family which sucked anyway.

He tried calling Rodrik's number; yeah, at least Ned had enough kindness in his heart to let Theon hear from his family ever so often and maybe even see them from time to time, which Theon didn't do anyway because his brothers were assholes and every time he wounded up in lousy mood.

_„If you were a real Greyjoy you would've taken off long time ago, not lettin' anyone tell you what to do.“ Grunted Maron. „But our baby brother is too soft for that, aren't you, Widdwe Theon? Mom sends her greetings. Should I tell her you miss her?“_

Rodrik didn't pick up even after the third time Theon attempted to dial his number. Fucker. He was probably drunk dead in some ditch who knows where and Theon would rather hang himself than call his second older brother.

So he ended up at the bar. 24/7 crap of a place, but at least he could pay for drinks since he didn't have enough for a hotel and chill there. Maybe they even let him take a nap in the broom closet. He was charming like that.

One night, second night, and then finally – the third night rolled around, and with it, a sly grin that would follow him forever.

_„Would you look at that. We have a Kraken, stranded ashore.“ A voice full of confidence made Theon turn around in a smoke covered bar. „I thought fish couldn't swim on the ground.“_

_„Fuck off.“_

_„Hey, hey.“ Ramsay rose his hands, his voice as jolly as ever, „I'm not here to fight. Come on. You are Theon, right? Greyjoy? Rodrik's brother?“_

_Theon frowned at the- boy? Man? Something in-between? He seemed to be around Theon's age, and while his presence ruled the room, his childish face bore no stubble or beard or anything. An amused, childish spark gleamed in his eyes. Eyes like glaziers._

_„You know Rodrik?“_

_„Sure, who doesn't? And I know you too. You are...“ the young man tilted his head, looking at Theon with hungry eyes, „The Stark pet, held in the Winterfell aquarium.“_

_„What, are you here to throw insults or should we start throwing fists?“ Theon sat up straight, trying to put on his best tough-guy act._

_The man across him just started laughing. Loudly, whole-heartedly, like he had heard the best joke ever._

_„Oh come on. I'm Ramsay. Ramsay Bolton. Do you know who I am?“_

Of course he knew. Everyone knew who Boltons were. Where their cash came from.

It was the same shit Theon's brothers did, except they didn't make nearly as much money. They were drug dealers with shit kept in trunks of their old cars and dealt in shady bars.

Bolton family had a different view on the matter. Roose Bolton wasn't really a man of low tastes.

Theon was also aware his brothers had more than one murder on their hands; but those were street fights between gangs and brutal Ironborn businesses. He soon found out Ramsay wasn't a stranger to a good chase – Theon had seen him run after someone who owed him money with a gun, blood-thirsty Bolton girls at his side, as Ramsay delighted in their barks. But unlike older Greyjoys – this was just a sport for the bastard. He did it for fun. To let off some steam. Not to pay for the pool in front of his house.

His real business was high scale.

_„Yeah. What about it.“ Theon grit his teeth at the Bastard._

_„Come on. Why are you so cold? Aren't southerners supposed to be all warm and welcoming?“_

_„Maybe in Dorne.“ Theon swallowed. „We are not. We are cold. Ruthless. Strong.“_

_Ramsay looked like he was about to choke on the laugh he was trying to surpress. „Yeah. You got me all scared. Look at me. I'm shivering.“ He exhaled and approached Theon's table and set his beer down. „Come on, really. I'm not here to insult you.“_

_Theon's expression softened a bit._

_„I actually own this place.“ Ramsay showed around with his hand. „And Myranda told me you've been taking naps in backstage for quite a while now. How would you like to sleep in an actual bed?“_

_„Right. You are from North. Why would you help me?“ Theon gave him a side eye._

_„What, are you going to be xenophobic now? That's shitty from you.“_

_„Xeno-what?“_

_„Nevermind. Seriously, come on.“ Ramsay reached his hand out. „Let's clean you up, or are you going to spend a fortnight waiting for your brothers in this shitty place?“_

Theon had no idea what made him be so fucking dumb to actually believe him. Of course Bolton would help him, he realized later – they probably didn't fawn over Starks either.

Theon especially as of late.

_„Hey, if I can remind you, your dad took me away! I haven't seen my family in years, Robb. What, oh, you don't know what's that like? Because you wake up to Jon shaving his armpits every morning? Do you know how often I see my brothers?!“ Theon shouted in front of the Stark residence._

_„Are you that ungrateful, Greyjoy? Did you really have such terrible time here? He was protecting you! From turning out like them!“ Robb shouted back in an annoyed voice which showed that he was right and Theon was wrong and stupid._

_And at that moment, Theon delivered a satisfying punch to Robb's dumb face._

There was something in the way Ramsay carried himself that made Theon suck up whatever honey dripped from his tongue. He will help him out – he would always help a misfortunate victim of the Stark justice, Theon could stay at his place until his brothers responded, it was all free of charge, he could leave whenever he wanted...

Ironborn didn't play games. They said what they had to say and took what they wanted. They didn't lie. Why the fuck would they? Only insecure men are liars, because they don't believe in themselves and don't stand behind their words. If you were confident in your opinions and ready to protect them, _like a real man should,_ you had no need to stoop to such... lowly tactics. It was... womanly and embarrassing.

Islanders were known for their brutal honesty. Theon knew how to handle Rodrik and Maron – well, not handle them _successfully_ but still – they were simple to understand. They were sea men, rough, trashing junkies around sewers and raping women in bars. They were like storms.

But Ramsay was something else. He was an entirely different game, one that Theon had never played before.

He had met wolves, but never serpents, and it was only later that he realized what Ramsay's eyes reminded him of.

Ramsay didn't _just_ trash. And although he was impulsive and violent, there was something sleazy about the entire Bolton lineage. He couldn't quite put his finger onto it. It only hit him when he met Roose Bolton himself - That cold, fake courtesy, used to hide and manipulate. Used to hide something worse, much worse than his brothers splitting someone's head with their knees.

Boltons played with big boys. Maron snorted speed but Ramsay snorted coke. Maron used some shitty store coupon and Ramsay used a golden fucking credit card.

Yeah, his brothers would break Bastard's card in half. They didn't care about money. Money wasn't something Ironborn were particularly fond of in general, actually. Gold wasn't their game. Gold is softer than iron. It's the most malleable of all metals.

But Ramsay's nice bed seemed more inviting than a low-heated floor the staff let him rest on for a bit, and while Theon knew his brothers would rather want him to sleep in the street than accept help, Theon actually _liked_ nice things. Whatever, like they had to find out.

But one week turned into two, and two into three, and... nobody ever picked up his calls. He texted Rodrik a couple times; expanding their business back to the North seemed like a good cause, one his brothers would jump on immediately, and Theon could help. But nobody responded.

Actually, his phone seemed to be broken, because every time he attempted to call _anyone_ it would say his SIM card has expired.

Meanwhile, Ramsay was wonderful. He came in and out, conducting his own business as Theon stayed mostly home. Bolton lived a bit outside the city so Theon had only woods to walk around. He felt guilty for just standing there and not contributing anything – while Ramsay worked _so hard._

_„Look, I- I could help. Try to repay you.“ Theon stuttered once when Ramsay sat to eat dinner._

_„Repay me? Theon, do you know what I do for living? How much money I earn?“_

_Greyjoy nodded, his lips thin and pressed one against other._

_„Well then you know very well I don't need your help.“ Ramsay dedicated his attention to the steak on his plate once again. He took a big bite, chewed and rised his fork. „Also, whatever sum you were thinking of – it's bigger than that.“_

_„Is cocaine really that big of a business?“ Theon asked, curious. His brothers didn't really seem to make a fortune by dealing meth from their cars._

_„I'm- what? Theon... have you seen the place my father lives in?“_

_Theon nodded. It was pretty hard not to see it when Dreadfort was a huge fucking estate that spread through the entire hill above them._

_„And you think cocaine trade in the North built it?“_

_Theon felt so stupid at that moment but- what else could it be?_

_„Greyjoy. What do you think I do? With my valuable time? What do you think my workday looks like?“ Ramsay put his fork down and looked at him with amusement, his eyebrow raised._

_„Well- uh- you sell-. You sell drugs, right?“ Theon nervously clenched his fist and looked away from the pale man sitting at the table._

_„I'm- is that really what you think? Look at me. Look at me now.“ Ramsay commanded and for some reason, Theon actually turned his head to him and obeyed. „Do I look like a fucking storage worker to you, oh my Gods? I'm-„ Ramsay interrupted himself with a burst of laughter. „That's what you thought? That I move packages from one end of the room to another all day long?“_

_Theon couldn't help but nervously move his eyes away from Ramsay again – they seemed to do that out of their own accord. He hated when the Bolton laughed. It always felt like he was telling Theon he's a fucking dumbass except without use of any words._

_It was always Theon who laughed at others, not the one being laughed at. He liked poking fun at the joke and not being the one poked at._

_„Do you want me to show you what I do for living?“ Ramsay grinned, his eyes lighting up with some weird, hungry flame, like he just thought of an excellent and very exciting game._

_Theon made a big mistake – he nodded._

The bed he jolted up in was so soft and it shook poor Greyjoy, hungover as hell after three days of constant drinking and self-hatred. Ramsay was right when he said he was useless on his own. He put his feet on the warm wooden floor and sat up.

He was clean – he smelled nice, both he and the bed and everything. He tried to remember things from the last evening. It was all a huge blur – he just remembered Ramsay's face when he leaned over him, and then he was in the car-. Crying. His eyes still stung.

Right, but that wasn't all, was it? No- he faintly remembered Ramsay carrying him upstairs... and to the bath...

_„Look, I'm not going to let you sleep like that in my bed. Let's wash your hair.“ Ramsay smiled as he let hot water flow in the bath tub. Theon melted in it. Heat felt so good after two weeks in Rodrik's apartment with one lightbulb, two blankets and that stupid ass fridge._

_„Th-m-nak you.“ was all he managed to moan, somewhere between sleep and awakeness._

_„Who's a good puppy?“_

_„I- I am.“_

_„Yeah. Hey, try to keep awake while we do this. I don't want you to drown.“_

_„Dr...drown...ed...what's dead may-.“ Theon slurred, his mind making the only connection it could, unsure of anything that was happening around him._

_„Aren't you adorable. You and your... cute but trivial culture. Come on, let's get you to the bed.“ Ramsay tried to pull him up but Theon shook his head, stubborn like a child. He didn't want to get out in the cold. Nevermind that the heating was on – it was still too cold to leave the nice bath._

_„Mn-no. Here. Lea-leave me here...“ Theon mumbled drunkenly and let his head lean on the side of the tub. „I want to... just a bit more...“ and he let his eyes relax together with his muscles._

He remembered through fog that Ramsay pulled him out after that, dried his hair as Theon leaned his head in the crook of Ramsay's neck as he dressed him, and then he was in the bed...

_„Who's good?“_

_„I am... I think...“ Theon mumbled in the pillow, responding to a voice far far away._

_„Yeah, we'll discuss that tomorrow.“ The voice sounded pleased with an undertone of some strange, posessive poison in it. „Because I don't think you are.“_

_„No? But-.“ Theon slightly opened his eyes, new tears forming out of confusion. He felt something move against his thigh – something hard – yet soft; and a hard breath against his ear. A big silhouette was looming over him, like some kind of a shadow beast, rubbing against him. It actually felt really nice in a way._

He doozed off pretty much immediately after that and everything else was just a pitch-black hole in his memory. He didn't notice a huge and deep purple bruise crowned by teeth marks on his neck.

He finally gathered courage to get up on his legs and wobbled a bit as he tried to keep up despite the diziness that suddenly swayed him.

He managed to walk over to the living room, leaning on the walls all the way through. Nausea was starting to come back to him. He felt like he was on a ship in the storm. And he was pretty sure a storm waited for him before the sky calmed down and took Theon back in. He actually regretted his decision to leave three days after he did. He had no idea what made him act on such a stupid whim.

Well, actually, he had, he knew very well who and what was responsible for it. Fucking Rodrik.

_„So, sweetie. You will stay right here and wait for me, alright?“ Ramsay cupped his chin. Theon maybe was embarrassed about such displays in the middle of a shopping mall, where all the people could see, but Ramsay wasn't. Actually, Ramsay wasn't embarrassed about most of things people should be embarrassed about. He just did what he wanted._

_Theon meekly nodded. His boyfriend's gentle touch was as scary as nice because he... he knew what Ramsay did with those hands. He felt it on his own skin. A patch of skin, size of a human hand missed on his side._

_Ramsay once asked him: „Do you want me to show you what I do for living?“ because Theon was stupid enough to ask. And Ramsay made sure to give him a proper demonstration of how skilled he was at it and what his knife collection really served for._

_People passed around them._

_Ramsay smiled at him – he always smiled so weirdly, not like you do at other humans out of love and respect, but with some proud upper ground that made Theon feel like he was a part of some kind of a well set up joke._

_Ramsay disappeared in the fashion outlet; he simply said he had some business to do and flashed a big envelope in front of Theon's face._

_Theon could guess about fifteen different things it could contain – each more terrifying than the previous one. He was a fucking idiot for thinking that Dreadfort was built on dope. Of course it wasn't. It was built on something much worse._

_So he simply stood in front of the store, nervously looking around, like he was partaking in some criminal activity (which was a good possibility he was)._

_„Oh. Wiww you stay hewe and wait fow me? Sweetie? Yes, of couwse I wiww.“ He heard a familiar voice full of mockery behind his back. Theon turned his head around with speed of light. Shock made his throat go dry in a flash of a second._

_Broad chested man, about a head and a half taller than him loomed over the small Ironborn. It was like a giant approached him; his face a bit ugly and twisted, his hair dark - yet; their eyes were the same colour. „Hello, little brother.“_

_„Hello, Rodrik-.“ Theon nervously swallowed. He felt like a gun bullet just passed through his lungs, pushing out every ounce of air he had. He saw. He saw. Why was he here? Of all the places? In North? In the fucking mall in North? What? No, they were all supposed to be-._

_„Aren't you a wonderfull little weasel? You left Starks to be some other Northerner's little bitch? Robb didn't fuck your ass good enough?“_

_„I- no- Robb never-. Okay, so, first of all- “_

_„What? No? Never took you like a woman? That's weird.“ Rodrik simply pointed at the outlet with his head. Ramsay was casually talking to the lady at the counter. „What's he doing in there? Buying you a dress? A dress for his little bitch? Who the fuck is that anyway?“ Rodrik leaned a bit over, squinting eyes. „...Is that a pink cross on his jacket? Are you- fucking with Boltons?“_

_Theon had no idea what he wanted to do in that moment – punch himself or Rodrik, both options seemed viable but what he really wanted was for the earthquake to take the entire mall down._

_„Do you know what they are? What they do?“ Rodrik asked, anger building up in his voice._

_Yeah! Everyone seemed to be fucking asking him that question! He knew! He didn't want to, though! And if Rodrik knew what really happened behind that naive farce of some druggie dealers he would shut his dumbass mouth so fast his teeth would smash each other and he would jump on the first ship to Islands that would arrive._

_„This is same as betrayal. What, did they initiate you in their little gang? And you accepted that over helping your born brothers? I should twist your neck right here.“_

_„I am not in the gang, fuck's sake!“ Theon yelped in his defense._

_„No? So then you are just his good slut? Because he has a nice shirt? That's somehow worse.“_

_And then they both went silent, intensely staring at each other. Two pairs of green-sea eyes in a battle._

_„Look.“ Broad Ironborn sighed, his wide body frame hovering over his younger brother. „Here. I won't even tell anyone about what I saw, alright? You are lucky it was me who saw this and not Maron or any of our men.“ Rodrik reached in his pocket and took out the key. „There, you can go to my old crib until you get your shit together. Or I'll personally change your last name to something else. Whatever it is, it won't be Greyjoy. Make a fucking choice Theon - and make it quickly.“ Rodrik gave him a dark look and shoved the keys in Theon's palm._

_Then the big frame of a muscular break-your-enemies-heads-with-your-knees Rodrik Greyjoy moved past Theon, purposefully bumping into him on its way and making Theon stumble few steps behind to keep his balance._

_Theon was left with sour taste in his mouth, keys in his palm and cold panic in his mind._


End file.
